


Toy Frogs & Pale Blue Hats

by Lunas_Little_Noodle



Series: When not in doubt, run away screaming in terror [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Gen, Seriously all this is is backstory for another fic, because if you cant tag the title, pale blue hats, toy frogs, what are you supposed to do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:37:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3689118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunas_Little_Noodle/pseuds/Lunas_Little_Noodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Includes the birth of the saviour of Wizarding Britain, and the preclude to his slightly-better-at-saving-the-world 'sister'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toy Frogs & Pale Blue Hats

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.

James Potter was pacing the halls of the maternity ward in St Mungo’s. He had been doing so ever since his wife Lily Potter had been admitted hours previously, and the only reason a track hadn’t been worn into the floor was because the building was magical.

Sitting in a visitor’s chair and watching his best friend pace was Sirius Black. He had come for moral support, as Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew (the other two in their barbershop quartet) were unable to be there.

As his wife’s screams once again filled the air, James clenched his hands into fists, so strongly his knuckles turned white. Sirius stood up and put a comforting arm round his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, “It’s going to be fine.” James’ features set into a scowl.

“We don’t know that,” he replied, “Maybe Lily might get some pregnancy-induced disease. Or our child could be stillborn. Or…” as James continued to ramble on about all the things that might happen, Sirius sighed and prayed for something to happen. Anything to get his best friend of ten years to quit working himself into a panic.

The door at the end of the hall opened, and both men swivelled towards it. Remus Lupin stepped through, and quietly shut the door behind him, “Hello James, Sirius,” he said quietly as he walked to join them. “Has the baby been born?” he asked, and the other two shook their heads.

James began pacing again as the two men talked, sticking to light subjects. When the midwife finally opened the door, James nearly bowled her over in his haste to get to his wife. When he entered the room, though, he lost all his momentum, and stood in the doorway gazing rapturously at the sight.

His wife was lying in the bed, obviously exhausted, but on her face was a radiant smile (“Brighter than the sun,” James would describe it as later. “It lit up the room.”) directed at the bundle of blankets in her arms. He slowly (oh so slowly) walked towards her, an expression of complete awe on his face. Remus and Sirius followed behind, the former apologising to the midwife while the later tried (unsuccessfully) to flirt.

“James,” Lily said, joy ringing through every syllable, “Look at him. Look at our beautiful baby boy.” She turned the bundle towards him, and in the folds of fabric James saw a small face sleepily peering around. The boy’s hooded green eyes (the same shade as Lily’s, James noted) looked up at him, and Lily pointed at him.

“That’s your dada,” she said in a coo, placing a kiss on his forehead. “Would you like to hold him?” she asked her husband, who readily agreed. He covetously took the child in his arms, supporting his head in his arms.

“Padfoot,” he said to the dog-Animagus (Remus was apologising to the midwife again, this time for his companions flirting attempts), a dopey smile on his face, “I’m a father.” Only then did the full magnitude hit James, “I’m a _father_ ,” he repeated.

A knock sounded on the door, and in walked a Healer, who went to converse with the midwife. Behind him entered Peter Pettigrew, who quietly closed the door behind him. “Sorry I couldn’t make it in time,” he said, putting a small present on the bedside table next to Lily (“Were we supposed to bring gifts?” Sirius asked Remus in a whisper).

“It’s alright,” said Lily from the bed, opening his present to find a pale blue baby hat. “Oh Peter, it’s wonderful!” she exclaimed, motioning him over so she could give him a hug. Peter awkwardly accepted, moving closer to the bed.

“Hey Wormy, hands off my wife,” James jokingly said. Sirius laughed as Peter sprang away, stuttering apologies.

“Ah, don’t worry Wormy, he was only joking,” said Sirius, still laughing. He made grabby-hands at the baby in James’ arms, “Stop hogging the Prongslet, Prongs,” he said, “I want to hold him.”

Lily laughed at the expression on her husband’s face, “Come on James,” she said with a smile, “Give Sirius his godson.” She still smiled, even as Sirius’ head whipped from the figure on the bed to the man standing next to him.

“Godson?” he squeaked (“I didn’t _squeak_.” He’d say later, “I gave a manly noise of surprise.”). James and Lily exchanged smiles.

“We’ve talked it over,” said James, looking squarely at his best friend.

“You’re the one we chose,” agreed Lily, “With Remus and Peter as honorary Uncles, of course.” Sirius had tears brimming in his eyes.

“Truly?” he asked.

“Truly,” repeated James and Lily. Remus and Peter watched with delighted smiles.

“Thank you,” said Sirius, voice choked with emotion, “Thank you so much.” There was a pause for Sirius to regain his composure, then James handed him his son. The baby was held by each of the four, then returned to his place on his mother’s chest.

“What’s his name anyway?” asked Peter, staring at his hands like he couldn’t believe he’d just held a living, breathing _baby_.

Lily opened her mouth to reply, but Sirius beat her to it. “His name is Elvendork,” he said, and James gave a snort as memories resurfaced. Lily scowled at the two.

“No it’s not Elvendork,” she said, a warning clear in her tone. “Where you get these from I will never know,” she muttered, before clearing her throat and speaking again. “No, his name is Harry. Harry James Potter.”

The group talked quietly about the miracle on Lily’s chest, and more than a couple of times James and Sirius would burst out laughing, while Remus and Lily shook their heads. Peter would smile good-naturedly at the jokes at his expense, and laugh at the others.

The Healer who’d entered earlier walked over a short while later, a grave expression on her face. The happy atmosphere vanished, replaced by an undercurrent of tension. “Mrs Potter,” she began, “I’m Healer Blythe.”

“Is anything wrong” Lily interrupted her. The males were silent, watching rapturously. Healer Blythe grimaced.

“I’m afraid your uterus was damaged during your pregnancy,” she began. Lily winced as she remembered some of the battles she had taken part in as a member of the Order before realising she was pregnant. “Thankfully, nothing is wrong with your son. He’s a healthy baby boy, and should be just fine.”

“But?” asked James, his wife’s hand ensconced in his own.

“But you are not,” replied the Healer, “I’m afraid you won’t be able to carry another child to term, or if you do it’s likely they will be stillborn. I’m sorry.” She retreated then, leaving the group — so full of life and noise before — now sombre and silent. Lily’s face was ashen, tears streaming down her cheeks. James was soothingly rubbing her back, face stony, eyes promising retribution to those who had hurt his wife. But there was no one to hurt, no one to track down and make pay for what had happened. The other Marauders were uncharacteristically silent. The only sounds to fill the room were the small, broken sobs of the woman on the bed, and the soft breathing of her son.

* * *

 

A year and three months later, the Potters were sitting in visitor’s chairs in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts. James and Lily had faces tight with emotion, and the 15-month-old child sleeping in Lily’s arms was restless, squirming and whimpering in her arms. Across from them, behind the large oak desk, sat Albus Dumbledore. His face showed every one of his numerous years. His elbows rested on the desk, and long fingers were steepled together in front of his face.

James put his head in his hands with a sigh. “I just never thought it would be Peter,” came from behind them, the grief evident in his voice. Lily shifted her baby in her arms, so that she could put an arm around her husband’s shoulder. While she also wanted to cry and rage at the unfairness of the world, she couldn’t; she had to be strong for James. Harry too, but mostly James, because it seemed like one breath of wind would blow him away.

Dumbledore paced hands on the desk in front of him, studying the 21-year-old couple over half-moon glasses. “We must plan,” he said, breaking the uneasy silence in the room.

“Plan for what, Professor?” asked Lily, giving him a confused look.

“We must make plans for Voldemort’s return,” the aged wizard replied. His answer had James lifting his head from his hands.

“But– but he’s dead,” James exclaimed, fixing Dumbledore with a stare, “You said Harry killed him.” He shot a fond look at his son, wiggling his fingers at the sleeping child.

“Yes,” said Dumbledore, “However, I fear Voldemort is not as gone as we’d like.” At the enquiring looks of the Potters, he hastened to explain, “When we brought young Harry,” he too gave the baby in Lily’s arms an indulgent smile, “To the Infirmary, Poppy and I found Dark Magic in his scar.” Both Potters gasped, and hurriedly turned their eyes to the angry red lightning-bolt scar marring the otherwise smooth skin of their son’s forehead.

“Is he okay?” Lily whispered, cradling her child to her chest. James’ head was whipping from his wife to Dumbledore, worry etched on his features. The old Headmaster smiled again, and held up a hand.

“He is fine,” Dumbledore answered, “We were able to remove the Dark Magic and contain it.” James let out a deep breath, while Lily pulled her child even closer to her chest. Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled at the display of affection before he once again spoke.

“However, he must be trained,” he said, and Lily gave him an incredulous look at the same time as her husband.

“What do you mean Headmaster?” James hesitantly asked, and Dumbledore sighed before entwining his hands on the large desk in front of him.

“Voldemort is not dead,” he stated bluntly. James gasped, and Lily, whose hands had loosened around her child, tightened once more.

“No,” she said softly, an expression of abject horror on her face, “You said— you _said_ Harry defeated him.”

“And he did defeat him, my dear girl,” Dumbledore replied. “However, Voldemort is not dead, despite what the Ministry is telling everyone. He will rise again, and Harry needs to be ready to face him.”

In another world, Lily and James agreed with Dumbledore, and let their son be trained to defeat the darkest wizard since Grindelwald from the moment he could walk. In a different world to that one, Lily had passed the time in Godric’s Hollow by baking cakes and confectioneries to give to her friends, not reading while her son played on the carpet in front of her. And in a world completely separate from both of these, Sirius Black didn’t ask Lily Potter for help cleansing the entirety of the Black Family Library when his mother died in a Death Eater attack on Diagon Alley.

But in this world, all these things did happen. While James had an expression on his face of reluctant acceptance, his wife’s frosty green eyes fixed Dumbledore with an intense stare. The Headmaster of Hogwarts, Defeater of Grindelwald, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, started fidgeting under the icy stare of one Lily Potter.

“No.”

“What do you mean by that Lily?” the Headmaster asked, as James watched with wide eyes.

“I mean ‘no’, Professor.” Her green eyes were narrowed at Dumbledore, who was staring back at her across his desk. The air in the office seemed to crackle with energy, and baby Harry squirmed in his sleep. James was staring at his wife in undisguised awe.

Surprisingly, Dumbledore was the first to look away. He glanced down at his hands, then looked back at Lily. “There really is no other way. Harry has to fight Voldemort.”

“To hell with that,” Lily snarled, her temper finally slipping through in her voice. “Harry doesn’t have to do _shit_.”

“But the prophecy –” Dumbledore started only to be startled into silence as Lily hissed at him. She then pulled her baby close to her chest and hunched in on herself. The men in the office saw her visibly calm herself down.

A minute later she spoke in a carefully controlled voice. “The solution I have in mind will take the prophecy into account,” she said, rolling her shoulders back as she straightened from her hunched position.

“And what exactly is this solution?” Dumbledore asked.

“The _Progeniti Transformat_ Ritual,” Lily replied. The Headmaster gaped at the witch in front of him. She replied to his incredulous look with a determined one of her own.

“Um,” James started, half-raising his hand. Lily and Dumbledore both turned to look at him, while Harry continued to slumber on his mother’s chest. “What’s the ‘ _Progeniti Transformat_ ’ Ritual?”

Dumbledore was quick to answer. “The _Progeniti Transformat_ , or the _Heres Fieri_ Ritual was used by old families to change the gender of their child to male, back when the person who was to become the next Head of Family had to be a man, or if families wanted their first child to be a boy.” He paused and looked into Lily’s eyes. “It is has also been classified as a Dark Ritual by the Ministry since 1849. How did you find out about it?”

“Sirius asked for my help in cleansing the Black Library of anything Dark,” she answered, looking at him steadily. “I found it in a book on rituals.”

James’ voice drew the attention of the other two back to him. “But how will it help? From what you two are saying, all this will do is change Harry’s gender.”

Dumbledore again answered. “The ritual creates a second child, who would be alike to Harry in every way except they would be a girl,” he said. His face was grave as he continued. “But to condemn your child to death…” He trailed off.

Lily’s face was all angles: sharp cheekbones, narrowed eyes, lips pursed in a thin line eerily reminiscent of her sister in another world at that same moment in time. “That is the point. I will not be condemning my child.”

Dumbledore’s eyes widened in shock. “You would really condemn a child to death,” he said in a disappointed tone.

“I would not condemn any child to anything if I could help it,” she snapped, and this is what finally woke Harry. He stared wide-eyed and silent at his mother, so no one noticed his wakefulness. “But as you say, Professor, Harry is trapped by prophecy. This is the only way to relieve him of his burden. I will _always_ try to reduce the suffering children must go through, but when faced between a child I hardly know and my own son, family will win out _every_ time.”

Her chest was heaving by the time she finished, and tears brimmed in her eyes in her anger at the Headmaster. Harry decided it was time the attention moved to him, and gave a loud wail.

“Oh, Harry,” Lily immediately moved her attention to him. “Mummy didn’t wake you, did she?” Satisfied the focus was now on him, Harry happily gummed a toy frog James had pulled out of a robe pocket on hearing the first wail.

“Professor,” she said once Harry’s attention was on his frog, “I’m going to go through with this ritual, no matter whether or not it’s Dark. Harry deserves a childhood free of expectations, and I’m going to do everything in my power to give it to him.”

“I will as well,” said James. “Professor, it can’t be _truly_ Dark if it brings new life into the world.”

Faced by both Potter’s unrelenting stares, the Headmaster acquiesced. But he unconsciously made the decision to discriminate against the soon to be Potter ‘twin’. Because, after all, if it came from a Dark Ritual (it was classified as Dark by purebloods, so it _had_ to be Dark; those bigots would do anything to keep a Dark ritual legal, so for it to be banned meant it must be Dark), it had to be inherently Dark, and the figurehead of the Light (he knew he couldn’t live forever; despite his friend Nicholas’ claims, he didn’t _want_ to) _couldn’t_ be Dark.

So, unintentionally, Dumbledore feared the Potter ‘twin’ from her very birth, and over the years that fear grew into anger which grew into hatred. And his hatred led to suffering, though none of the suffering was felt by the Headmaster, so it didn’t exist. But sometimes, in the small hours of the night, years after the meeting in his office, the wizened old man would see a young face in the late June sun, covered with boils and twisted in pain. “Please” would accompany it, carried in by non-existent wind, the memory of small voice pleading.

Sometimes, in the small hours of the morning, years after he unintentionally started to hate a girl who didn’t even exist yet, Professor Dumbledore would feel guilt.

**Author's Note:**

> So, here is that oneshot I promised! I hope it clears up any confusion as to Laelynn's existence. I am always welcome to people messaging me to talk about this, and will be happy to clear things up for whoever asks.


End file.
